Home is where the heart is
by Chocolmel
Summary: Dean is a poor man with a hotshot brother. That all changes when he impulsively adopts an angel and his whole world is flipped upside-down. deaged!Cas and Gabriel


You're nestled in between two shabby buildings, beer bottles strewn about you in some sort of semicircle pattern when you just happen to catch the child's eyes. He's flanked by two older business men who are both lugging around bulging briefcases. You wonder where they're talking him, wonder if Sam's okay, wonder if you have any beer left, then shake your head. _Focus_. You train your eyes back on the boy. He's tiny, dwarfed by the men and even though it's dark you can tell he's shaking.

They don't notice you as they pass and you swear you can see bruises on his tiny cheeks. Fuck. You're by no means a good person, that's your brother, but _dammit _if you're gonna let some idiots abuse a child. You struggle to stand, closing your eyes as you wait out the momentary dizzy rush. Once you're upright you stumble over to the men and before the more rational side of your brain catches up you blurt out, "HEY."

The kid freezes and whimpers and then you feel bad because you hadn't meant to frighten him, it's the men you want.

"Problem?" The dark haired man's voice is like nails on a chalkboard to your head and you groan and place both hands on your forehead. Fuuuuck, way to much to drink you can't think-

The kid whimpers again, pressing his back against the side of the building and curling up into a little ball. _Deep breath, Dean, _you tell yourself. You straighten back up, the picture of dignity, and glower at the men. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Your voice is throaty, nothing more than a primitive growl.

"What I want." The dark haired man responds, passing his briefcase to his companion and mutters, "Get it inside."

You step foreword to block his way but instead you lurch backwards, tripping over your own feet. Both men snicker and you snap, "I said, what the hell are you doing?!" You feel like you're going to barf, _and what the hell are you doing, _but you reach out and grab the guy's arm, tightening your fist. He jerks away and glares at you. "You can't treat a kid like that." You say, because now that you're closer you can tell that those are definitely bruises on the kids face and-

"He ain't a kid."

You snort and roll your eyes and before you have time to blink, the other man rips the kids trench coat off and you're about to throttle him when you see them. The… wings.

"He's an Angel?" You choke out. The dark haired man smirks and nods because he knows theres nothing you can do, angels are more like rare, exotic pets and aren't protected like people, and, and…

"Fuck you."

The kid- no angel, wraps himself up in his wings and now that he's not clothed you can see that his body is covered in bruises and blood and scars.

"Where are you taking him?" Even if there is nothing that you can do, maybe you can report it-

"Auction." The ginger man replies, grabbing the angel's arm and dragging him towards the door leading into a decrepit building. The trench coat is left on the ground and the dark haired man steps over it as he follows his partner in.

"You're selling him?" You spit out incredulous. The dark haired man shrugs. "I don't need em, and angels ain't cheap boy. I can get a good profit from it."

You feel another twinge of white hot anger and you clench your hands. You'd like nothing more than to ram your fist into his snooty face but you're drunk and all you'd accomplish is gaining new scars. You take another deep breath and before you realize what you're saying you go, "I'll take him. How much?" You can tell the man is surprised but he recovers quickly and shoots you a condescending glare.

"I don't think so boy."

"I said how much?" You aren't gonna let this go.

Much to your surprise the man seems to consider it. "7,000." He says finally. "Take it or leave it." And holy crap that's way more than you could have ever imagined. You groan and sneak another glance at the angel boy. His eyes are wide and scared and he's shivering and you break. "Fine."

Dark haired's eyebrow quirks up, obviously not expecting you to go for it. He calls for 'Nick' and the ginger turns around, dragging the angel with him. And holy shit Sammy is going to _kill_ you but you whip out your emergency checkbook, scribble one for 'cash' and hand it over. "We don't take checks." Nick mutters but dark haired shooshed have a feeling that the angel wasn't worth nearly 7,000 based on dark haired's nearly gleeful expression but you can't bring yourself to care. "Give me the kid." You say and dark haired complied, pushing the angel boy towards you. He stumbles and falls onto your shoes, crying out as he does. You wan't to reach down and comfort him but both men are still staring at you so you reach down and grab the kids grubby trench coat and drape it over his shaking shoulders. "You're okay." You whisper in his ear before straitening up and glaring at the men. "Don't you have somewhere better to be?" And with that the men disappear inside the crumbling building. You hope it falls on them.

The second the door slams shut you crouch down and face the angel child.

"Hey…" You say quietly and he lifts his head to stare at you with watery eyes. "I'm gonna get you someplace safe okay?" He trembles again and then his arms are around your neck and he's _clinging _to you and you crush him against your chest, tucking his head underneath your chin.

"It's okay, I promise it will be okay." Comforting was never your strong suit but this seemed to come naturally and you balanced the angel boy on your nonexistent hip. "Let's get out of here huh?" He didn't respond (could he understand you?) but his muscles seemed to relax as he sagged against you and you took that as a good sign.

You didn't have money for a cab so you resigned yourself for the walk back to your shitty apartment. It gave you a chance to clear your head from the booze and focus on what you had just done. You _adopted an angel._ You, Dean Winchester, king of impulsive decisions, single and unemployed, had taken in a child. It didn't matter if angels were treated as no more than pets, they were a huge responsibility, expensive to care for, and you didn't have the slightest idea of where to go next.

You then decided, fuck it, you would worry about that in the morning, because you really didn't need to deal with that right now. You had something more… immediate to focus on. You climbed the steps to the apartment and slid inside, careful not to jostle the angel. He was breathing funny, in wheezy gasping breaths and he was bleeding from several cuts. He was also filthy and had an assortment of god knows what stuck in his mop of dark hair. You decided that the best thing to do would be to sponge him off (goddamn shitty apartment not having a bathtub) and get him into bed. You didn't know if there was a such thing as an 'angel doctor' but you should probably find out asap.

You settle him on the sofa, drape a blanket over his shoulders and grab a bowl to fill with warm water. He looked exhausted but keeps his unnaturally blue eyes trained on you, obviously not fully trusting you yet. You were still seething mad, but tried to appear docile, if only for the angel's sake. Oh that reminded you, "Do you have a name?"

You still don't know if he can speak, but since he would be staying with you for the foreseeable future you couldn't just keep referring to him as 'the angel'. It was a few seconds before you got a reply.

"Castiel." He looks down when he speaks to you and his voice is much deeper than you expected from someone his size. "I'm Dean." You say, forcing a smile. He glances up, blinking his large eyes owlishly. "I'm gonna clean you up a bit okay?" You ask, showing him the water and kitchen sponge. He nods curtly and sheds the blanket, exposing his chest and wings. The wings were nothing short of amazing and you were hit with another pang of anger as you noticed that they were bent out of shape and missing feathers.

Castiel flinches when you go to wash a cut on his arm, screwing his eyes shut and letting out a little whimper. You stop instantly, frustration building up in your stomach. You had to remind yourself that it wasn't his fault, he had probably been abused all his life.

Angels were magnificent creatures but humanity had clipped and bound them and now they were nothing more than obedient pets. 'Pet' had a variety of meanings though and you didn't want to think about what it had meant for Castiel.

"I promise I won't hurt you." You murmur, pushing the sponge to his skin once again. This time he lets you, watching your every move.

You managed to mop up most of the blood, although you couldn't do anything for the bruises that covered his skin like a kid's dot-to-dot puzzle. Without anything covering him, you could distinctly count each of his ribs and you made a mental note to buy some food that wasn't your normal cholesterol inducing crap.

He winces and sinks further into the couch as your hand brushes up against his wing and you bite your lip and rock back on your heels. You don't know the first damn thing about angel wings so you decide that you should probably just leave them alone for now. Even if he's looking at you like he's already decided that you were the one to take all his pain away.

"I''m done." You mutter, turning away and rinsing out the bowl. He gratefully pulls the fuzzy blanket back around his skinny shoulders and blinks.

"You can have the bed for tonight." You continue, poking your head into your small bedroom to make sure there were sheets on the bed. They probably hadn't been cleaned in weeks but you didn't think the angel would care.

Your small charge slowly unfolds himself from the couch and curls his toes once they hit the cold ground. His nose wrinkles and you have to quickly remind yourself that no, this wasn't a little boy, he was an angel. He wasn't human even if he fucking looked like it.

You step back as he shuffles into your room and you have to help him onto the bed. He's just so _small. _He doesn't appear to like you touching him, if by the way he freezes like a cat on a leash is any indicator, but he doesn't fight it either.

You can tell that he can't find a comfortable position to lay in, his chest is all covered with cuts, and the wings on his back are bent, but he eventually settles on his side, pulling his knees up into his chest.

You're torn by wanting to stay and make sure he's okay, and the feeling that he probably doesn't want you staring at him and decide to head back into the living room. You leave the door open though, so if anything happens you can see it.

It's about 15 minutes since you left him when you hear shuffling behind you and you turn to see the angel. "Castiel… What's wrong?"

His eyes are wide and he looks at your face than back at his feet half hidden by the blanket. His voice is barely a mumble and you have him repeat it twice before you understand him.

"I-I thought you left me."

Of course your angel would have abandonment issues.

"I'm right here Cas." The nickname slide easily past your lips.

He lingers by the doorway, to afraid to come closer and to afraid to disappear back into the bedroom. You sigh.

"Would it help if I stay with you 'til you fall asleep?" His eyes light up and he nodnodnods. The angel lets you sweep past him and you settle on one half of the bed. Castiel clambers up next to you, curling back up. You pull the comforter up to his shoulders and he lets out a little sigh and you're suddenly bombarded with memories of when you used to do this with Sammy.

"Night Cas." You murmur, letting your hand trail through his soft hair. Instead of flinching away as you had imagined, he leans into the touch and you let yourself smile. Maybe this won't be as hard as you thought.


End file.
